


Starscream's Sexy Staycation

by DesdemonaKaylose, neveralarch



Series: Banners from the Turrets [14]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Lingerie, M/M, Safeword Use, Sexual Roleplay, Sleepy sex shading maybe into somnophilia, barbarian au, first time dom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:59:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23551936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose/pseuds/DesdemonaKaylose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: Post-war Cybertron: the weather is beautiful and the city is flourishing, and it's Starscream's turn to pick the family vacation. No, we're not going to the crystal gardens. Let's talkchain mail.(this is comedy pwp and an excuse to write robots wearing lingerie, you can read this even if you don't want to read a 100,000 word au probably)
Relationships: Megatron/Rung/Starscream (Transformers)
Series: Banners from the Turrets [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1265390
Comments: 26
Kudos: 109





	Starscream's Sexy Staycation

**Author's Note:**

> what do you know, it's a "stay in" fic just in time for the massive wave of quarantine horny. Happy 2020 I guess. Enjoy some healthy and loving robots before we dip back down into the three part tour de angst we have soon planned for this timeline.

Even as hospital director, Rung allowed himself a week’s vacation leave every fiscal quarter. It was less often than most employees, but certainly more often than Ratchet, and much more often than the rare breaks Rung had taken during the war.

It was another one of the many gifts of peacetime, that Rung could leave his job for a week without feeling like the building might burn down without him. Megatron didn’t seem quite as excited about their little vacations, but Starscream was, if it was possible, even _more_ infatuated with the concept than Rung was. It had been his idea to synchronize their leave for ‘maximum relaxation potential.’

Starscream arrived home from work looking very smug and carrying four big shopping bags imprinted with some alien writing and a heart shaped logo. He had taken the time to have a new set of tapering greaves switched into his frame while he was out, emphasizing his slimmed-down ankles and his elongated thrusters. He looked like he was glowing, and Rung couldn’t actually tell if he’d touched up his paint or if it was just his eagerness shining through.

“They’re all _exactly_ sized, so don’t try and get out of it by saying they don’t fit,” he said, throwing down the bags on the kitchen table like some kind of invitation to duel. “I mean you, Megatron, don’t even think about it.”

Megatron regarded the table with a curled lip. “This is ridiculous. Last quartex we went to the pan-galactic performance arts festival, and this year we’re to be trapped in our house for a week like vermin in lace?”

“It’s _my_ turn!” Starscream retorted, his armor flaring as he jabbed a finger at Megatron. “We all agreed this quartex was _my_ pick, so we’re doing _my_ thing! Now put on your costume!”

While Megatron continued grumbling in a somewhat resigned but no less inflammatory tone, Rung sorted through the many Starscream-sized outfits and pulled out the outfit clearly intended for himself. Clothing was difficult to come by for mechanisms of their size and make—lots of moving parts, even without taking transformations into account, and lots of corners for cloth to catch on. Weaving something fifteen to twenty feet high was difficult for a lot of the smaller species, too. Plastic was a popular alternative, although you ran the risk of melting it with too much enthusiasm if you didn’t buy the tough stuff.

What Starscream had picked up was a lovely set of lingerie woven out of some alien fiber that promised to be heat and tear resistant, durable, and light. It was also, Rung noted with some amusement, a deep purple color that almost matched the infamous Decepticon brand. The shop tag called it _plunge babydoll tulle_ , whatever that might mean. The top part, with the gauzy drape of fabric, he would probably need Starscream’s help to get into. There were some clasps… not terribly intuitive… but the bottom piece, the lacy briefs, he could get those on by himself, surely.

Er. He hoped. He gave the mental geometry another spin and reoriented the sections of fabric. And to think so many organic species put on things like this every day! It must become second nature eventually.

After a moment of very careful work, relieved, Rung snapped the panties into place over the ballsockets of his hips and turned back to his mechs.

“Well?” he said, “Is that about right?”

Starscream and Megatron stopped what they had been doing, which was shaking each other by the collar faring, and looked over. After a second, Megatron remembered to put Starscream down.

“You have to open your panel,” Starscream said, a bit breathless. Possibly from being shaken.

“Um,” Rung said. “Oh my.”

Both Rung and Megatron immediately dropped their gazes to the front of Rung’s lacy panties. A nervous thrill went through Rung. He’d done quite a lot of things in his years, but this was a new one for him. He could imagine how it would look with the panel folded away, the tell tale lack of bulk, the tender mesh almost visible through the lace.

“Well,” he said, “alright.”

There was a whirr and a click, and then Rung was treated to the delightful sight of two optical suites going pale with a supernova of light.

“That good, hm?” Rung teased.

“I begin to understand why the church of old kept its holy objects behind a veil,” Megatron said. Starscream immediately elbowed him.

“Shut up and put on your bikini, if Rung can do it so can you.”

Megatron’s _bikini_ , which he eventually suffered to let them put him into, came with a tag labeling it _barbarian fantasy_. Rung admitted he could see where the company was coming from—where Rung’s outfit was light and soft, Megatron’s outfit was all metal and leather; where Rung’s clung to the soft curve of his chassis, Megatron’s became almost another layer of armor.

Megatron grunted as Starscream tightened a belt around his chest, and arched his back a little to resist Starscream’s tugging. Rung bit his lip. Maybe it wasn’t _just_ another layer of armor. 

The top piece of scale mail was nice enough. It emphasized the broadness of Megatron’s chest plate, and that was never a bad thing. But the drape of mail just covering the width of an interface panel, hung loosely from one of those leather belts, all but begged the viewer to run their fingers through the scales, to slip their fingers underneath, to touch the wet softness only barely hidden when Megatron shifted his weight from one hip to the other and the mail swayed slightly out of place.

Not to mention the shape of the mail resembled some of the triangular codpieces seen on jet frametypes, which were generally agreed to be very tantalizing, even when they shouldn’t be. Rung wondered vaguely if the designers had known. Perhaps there was just something universally attractive about triangles.

“There you are,” Starscream said, standing back at last when the last band of the chest belt was secured and buckled. “Tell me you don’t love it. Go on.”

Megatron, who had been rubbing his fingers over the scales in fascination, froze. For a klik he visibly struggled between several responses that would have resulted in at least an hour of damage control. Then he said, “At least it’s metal. Mostly.”

Apparently satisfied, Starscream dug into the bags and pulled out one of his own, much more complicated purchases. There were garters. And high socks. And then Starscream popped a couple of thigh compartments to reveal a set of modest integrated hooks, clearly designed to keep panties in place around his narrow hips.

He marched off into the adjoining room, and there was the sound of plastic tearing open.

“Starscream’s Sexy Staycation House Rules!” he shouted through the door. “Rule number one, panels open all the time, unless you don’t want to play, I guess, fine. Rule number two, no comm messages and no working, I don’t care how important it is, we’re vacationing. Rule number three, I have all your character stats so don’t act like you forgot your character motivation, it’s right here in the binder _—Yes,_ Megatron, we are going to role-play and I _am_ going to wear the crown, suck my afterburner.”

“You never should have introduced him to roleplay,” Megatron muttered.

“I heard that!” Starscream shrieked.

Rung muffled a laugh behind his fist.

Starscream came back out, as always, with the maximum dramatic flare. He cocked out a hip and leaned alluringly against the doorframe, showing off the blindingly red one-piece with the center diamond cut out to frame his cockpit, crisscrossing straps emphasizing the open space. His panel was already open, the delicate fabric clinging to the outline of his spike housing.

Even in the domestic mundanity of their kitchen, he was stunning.

Optics set to a smoky dimness, Starscream said, “Here’s the game. I’m a successful, desirable senator from the golden age, and you two are the pleasurebots I’ve hired to take care of me at my luxurious penthouse.”

Megatron crossed his arms, scale mail softly jingling. “I refuse. I’m not helping you glorify an era of flagrant rights abuses and obscene wastefulness. And I’m certainly not going to play buymech for you. There, I draw the line.”

“The setting is just a little piece of fantasy,” Rung soothed, “it’s really not hurting anyone, darling. But if you don’t want to pretend to be a sex worker, no one is going to make you. Isn’t that right, Starscream?”

Starscream, who had settled against the doorframe, flapped a wrist at them. “Yes yes, hard limits, etcetera, etcetera. I thought you might say that, which is why I have a back-up scenario for you.”

Megatron eyed him. “Do you.”

Starscream pushed off the doorframe. “In the rugged wastelands beyond the safe walls of the city,” he said, hips swinging as he sashayed towards Megatron, “barbarians roam the wilderness. Their most formidable warrior, caught in an ambush, is dragged back to the city in chains…”

Megatron stared down at Starscream as he traced the engraving of Megatron’s chest plate, talon tip nudging the edge of a scale mail cup out of the way.

“Captured,” Starscream said, _“barely_ restrained, and brought to me to tame. I and my sweet little assistant, who has _never_ seen anyone as fierce and formidable as _you…”_

Someone who did not know Megatron very well might take his silence for a stone wall of disapproval. But Rung could feel his spark almost in his throat, because the fact that Megatron wasn’t immediately dismissing it out of hand meant he was waffling… and if he was _waffling,_ that meant he was _interested_ …

“I think it sounds fun,” Rung said. He hopped up on the table, quite casually, and let his legs fall open, gauze and lace conspiring to both highlight and hide his exposed valve. Megatron’s gaze jumped from Starscream—now pressed up tight against his front—to Rung, and then back.

“…This is _really_ what you would like to do with your vacation,” Megatron said. “Community improv theater?”

“Relax.” Starscream thumped Megatron’s chest with the heel of one hand. “You don’t have to do any acting. Just go _argh_ a bit and thrash. I’ve already built your character sheet and it says you don’t speak proper Cybertronian, so you can’t talk to us anyway.”

Megatron shoved at Starscream’s shoulder, not _quite_ hard enough to actually push him away. “If I live on this planet the same as you, my Cybertronian is just as proper as yours!”

Starscream grinned. “That’s the spirit. Alright, here’s how we’re going to set the thing up.”

Yesterday, Megatron had agreed to take Rung out for dinner, while Starscream had free reign of the apartment so he could ‘prepare.’ Now that their vacation was starting in earnest, Megatron realized that those preparations had involved carefully welding thick titanium rings to the corners of the berth.

Megatron could probably rip them off if he pulled hard enough. Certainly the thin gold chains Starscream had wrapped over his chest and around his limbs would snap if Megatron did more than flex.

But it was Starscream’s turn. And Rung looked very hopeful.

Megatron carefully thrashed a little. “Argh.”

“Silence, you heathen,” said Starscream, imperiously.

Megatron glowered at him. “Argh.”

Starscream raised his hands to the ceiling. “Why do I even bother? Barbarians only understand two things.”

There was a pause. Starscream looked meaningfully at Rung.

“Oh!” Rung took a step forward from where he’d been hovering at a table of… implements. “What do you mean, sir?”

It was almost pathetic how Starscream lit up at ‘sir.’ Didn’t he get enough respect and validation through his ongoing domination of the Cybertronian government? Did he really have to force it through playacting?

“Two things,” repeated Starscream. “Pleasure and… pain.” He leant forward to stroke one hand up Megatron’s calf and thigh, stopping with his fingers just touching the edge of Megatron’s loincloth. “Which do you think he would prefer?”

“Argh,” said Megatron, which he hoped Starscream understood as ‘you are not allowed to try spanking me again after what happened last time.’ 

“Pleasure, I think, sir.” Rung smiled. “Is it not better to be loved than to be feared?”

“Hmm.” Starscream tapped his lip. “I thought it was the other way around. But we’ll try the easy way first. There’s always time for the hard way afterward…”

Starscream ran his fingers through the scales of Megatron’s loincloth. “Let your spike out,” he hissed. “I want to see this bulging.”

“Argh,” said Megatron.

“That wasn’t in character, I don’t have to be in character all the time. Come on, I want your spike.”

It was unfortunately telling that those words, spoken in that carelessly demanding tone, shot a tremor of arousal up Megatron’s spine. It only took a little effort to extend his spike and begin the pressurization, the loincloth beginning to lift a little as his spike filled.

“Ooh,” said Starscream. “I think the heathen _does_ want pleasure. Rung, come and see.”

Rung hurried to the side of the berth to watch Starscream palm Megatron’s spike through the loincloth. Megatron pushed his hips up, pleased at the way Rung’s optics widened. If nothing else, Rung was very pretty as a naive little ingenue.

“He’s very big, sir,” said Rung.

“Yes.” Starscream’s optics tracked up Megatron’s torso and shoulders, lingering on the mail that hid Megatron’s chest. “Big all over.”

“Should I,” Rung wet his lips, “would you like me to—”

“Don’t be silly, he’d break you in half.” Starscream swept Megatron’s loincloth over one thigh, revealing Megatron’s fully-pressurized spike. “This requires the valve of an _expert._ ”

“Argh,” said Megatron, and jerked his hips up again.

Starscream swatted his thigh. “Hold still! Rung, give me your hand.”

Starscream steadied himself on Rung as he climbed onto the berth and straddled Megatron’s hips. His fabric-clad legs brushed softly against Megatron’s sides, the feeling both alien and sensual. He was facing away from Megatron, giving Megatron a lovely view of Starscream’s back and aft, unimpeded by cloth except for a few thin straps.

It was odd, how erotic that felt. Megatron saw Starscream’s naked back every day. But now that there was a covering, it was almost overwhelming to see it uncovered.

“Get me ready,” ordered Starscream, and leaned back on his elbows, one wing nearly bashing into Megatron’s face.

Megatron couldn’t see what Rung was doing. He could hear cloth shifting, and then a slick sound as Rung presumably did something to Starscream’s valve. Megatron tried to look over Starscream’s shoulder.

“Stop thrashing,” grumbled Starscream. “I’ve—ah—I’ve got you. You’re not getting away.”

“Argh,” grumbled Megatron.

Rung reappeared, his face shiny with lubricant. “Is that enough, sir?”

“It’ll do.” Starscream straightened up, then reached down to pull away the string that ran up between the rounded curves of his aft. “Hold him in place.”

Megatron felt Rung’s delicate fingers curl around the base of his spike, and then Starscream was sinking down, hot and wet and still tightening like a vise.

 _“Oh,”_ said Starscream. “Oh, oh. He’s so _big._ We’ll have to teach him how to use a beautiful tool like this, won’t we?”

“Of course, sir,” said Rung.

“Mmm. Give me your hands.”

Starscream began to move, steadying himself on Rung again as he bobbed up and down. Megatron tried to throw off his rhythm with little jerks of his hips, but Starscream was determined to take him deep and slow. Eventually Megatron just settled onto the berth and let Starscream have him, watching as Starscream’s wings flickered and dipped.

“He’s settling,” said Starscream. “Yes… I think pleasure’s working, Rung. Can you get the equipment for stage two?”

“Yes, sir.”

Starscream’s rhythm stuttered a little, now that he had to support his own weight. For a few moments he just made little grinding circles with his hips, his hands clutching at Megatron’s legs.

“Is this what you wanted?” asked Rung.

“Yes, yes,” groaned Starscream. “Give me that remote. Go on, put it in him.”

Megatron’s hips jerked of their own accord as he felt Rung’s fingers at his valve lips. There was something small but solid pressing on his entrance, and after only a little resistance it slipped _in._

“This is called a _vibrator,”_ said Starscream. “Do you understand, you heathen?”

“Argh,” said Megatron, a little breathlessly.

“No? Then I’ll demonstrate,” said Starscream, and turned it on.

The chains creaked ominously as Megatron really did thrash, pinned down only by the weight of Starscream on his hips. Starscream yelped as Megatron thrust up into him again and again, unsure if he wanted more or less of that rumbling deep inside his valve.

The vibrations turned down. Megatron settled, his chest heaving as his frame tried to cycle cool air in from his vents. The leather straps around his chest felt thick and tight, holding his armor in place.

 _“Primus,”_ said Starscream. “Stage three, Rung, stage three.”

There was a little buzzing noise, and then Megatron groaned as a second vibrator grazed over his node. It teased at him for minutes, hours, an eternity, while Starscream started circling his hips again. Megatron could hear the wet sound of Starscream playing with his own node while Rung tortured Megatron’s.

“I thought this was going to be pleasure, not pain,” he ground out.

“Your line is ‘argh,’” said Starscream, and turned up the vibrator in Megatron’s valve, just as Rung pressed the other vibrator flush against Megatron’s node.

Megatron lost control of his frame. He was a passenger, watching Starscream ride him like a shuttle in an asteroid field, while his own nerves blazed and his hips danced. His core began to tighten, readying for the moment to let loose, when abruptly Rung pulled the vibrator away.

Megatron moaned in loss. The vibrator inside of him wasn’t enough to get him to overload, and Starscream was holding himself up now, only the tip of Megatron’s spike still encased in that silky wet heat.

“You can spike him,” purred Starscream.

“Sir?” squeaked Rung.

“Don’t take out the vibrator.” Starscream bobbed a little on Megatron’s spike, like he just couldn’t help himself. “His valve is deep enough, you can fit your adorable little spike in there. Go on.”

Rung’s spike wasn’t _little_. It pressed the vibrator further into Megatron’s valve, all the way up to Megatron’s ceiling. Rung made a few tentative thrusts, and then settled into a steady, pounding rhythm that made Megatron feel like his struts were going to melt.

And then Starscream turned up the vibrations again.

Megatron’s processor blanked. When he came back to himself, the gold chains were in pieces and he was holding Starscream down by the hips, keeping him in place while Megatron filled him with pulse after pulse of transfluid.

“Hnngh!” Starscream’s valve tightened as he overloaded. “Megatron!”

“Megatron!” echoed Rung, and Megatron felt his own valve flood.

They all stayed like that for a moment, sticky and panting. Then Megatron plucked the remote from where it lay on the berth and turned off that blasted vibrator.

“That’s mine,” whined Starscream.

“Argh,” said Megatron, and lifted Starscream off his spike.

Starscream had a tendency to _cling_ after sex, and there didn’t seem to be an exception for roleplay. He cuddled up against Megatron’s chest, all disheveled straps and lace. The fabric was still pulled away from his bared and drooling valve. Megatron reached out and eased it back into place, watching as the fabric went dark and wet.

Rung flopped onto Megatron’s other side, pressing a kiss to Megatron’s neck. _“Darling.”_

“Mhm,” agreed Megatron. “It was good.”

“Of course it was good,” mumbled Starscream. “It was my idea. And in the next encounter, we’ll—”

“Later,” said Megatron. Rung was still shivering with the aftershocks, so Megatron pulled him tight against his frame. Rung took the opportunity to sneak one hand under Megatron’s top to pet at the metal of his chest.

“But—” began Starscream.

“Rest,” said Megatron. “We have the whole week.”

“Fine.” Starscream’s hand joined Rung’s under Megatron’s top. “But when I wake up we’re trying the hard way next.”

By the middle of the third day, Megatron was starting to see the appeal.

No. That was an understatement almost criminal in its extravagance. He’d seen the appeal from the moment he looked at Rung shrouded in purple gossamer. By the middle of the third day, Megatron was starting to lose himself in hedonistic pleasure. 

They couldn’t have sex every moment of the day, despite Starscream’s plans. They needed time to fuel and to rest, if nothing else. But there was no work. No politics. No idle reading, even. In the breaks, Megatron laid on the berth (or the couch, or the floor, he was on the floor right at this moment) and let his processor meditate on nothing at all. Even Starscream would fall silent, exhausted by his own enthusiasm. Rung was the most lucid of the three of them, but he would smile and pet Megatron’s helm and in an hour or two Starscream would rouse enough to start mouthing at Megatron’s neck or tease his fingers against Rung’s spark window.

It felt… peaceful. Megatron wondered if this was how Starscream felt when Rung was sitting on his chest and cooing nonsense about his ‘grave injuries’. Or when he was on his knees devouring plastic. Like his responsibilities had been taken away from him, replaced only with desires.

Starscream shifted against Megatron’s chest, his optics slowly brightening. “Rung?”

“Hm?” Rung straightened up from where he’d been slumped with his back against the foot of the couch and set aside the datapad he’d been perusing. Inexhaustible.

“I think.” Starscream’s vocalizer was thick with static and it clicked as he reset it. “I think you’re ready.”

“Ready for what, darling?”

“To take the spike of this _heathen,_ my naive _assistant.”_ Starscream gestured down at where Megatron’s loincloth hid his exposed equipment. “I think we can trust him not to be too rough with you, now that he’s _trained.”_

“Oh!” Rung scrambled over on hands and knees. “Thank you, sir!’

“You’re welcome,” said Starscream, graciously. Megatron fought down a snort. “You’ll have to get it ready. Use your mouth.”

“Sir, I’m not sure if it will fit,” said Rung, doubtfully, as if he’d never tried before. “Maybe my hands—”

“Just suck on the head.” Starscream’s cables groaned as he sat up. He stretched, showing off the dark blue bodysuit he’d changed into this morning, the one with the straps that fit perfectly into his hip seams. “And put your aft in the air, I need to stretch you.”

Megatron’s opinion was apparently irrelevant. He found, bizarrely, that he didn’t mind. There was something about being treated as an object to be used for Rung and Starscream’s pleasure that felt… right. It allowed him to remain in that floating, blank space where the only thing he was responsible for was keeping his spike pressurized and his legs spread.

His hips jerked as Rung’s warm, soft mouth took in just the head of his spike, licking at the slight swell where the head met the shaft. Rung’s hand wrapped around the rest of him, squeezing and stroking, and Megatron heard himself groan. Rung answered him with a muffled little moan of his own, his hand clenching a little as Starscream doubtless got his fingers in him.

Time passed oddly. Megatron offlined his optics for just a moment to revel in the sensation, but when he onlined them again it was Rung’s valve kissing just the top of his spike. Rung’s legs were shaking a little as he tried to sit down, prevented by Starscream’s hands on his waist, holding him up.

“Slowly,” hissed Starscream. “Slowly, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Please, sir, please let me!” Rung squirmed, but Starscream was implacable. “I’m ready!”

Megatron tried to jerk his hips up, to force the situation. Starscream just raised Rung even further. The hem of Rung’s negligee fluttered around his hips, and Megatron could see through the translucent material that his panties had disappeared. Rung’s valve was gaping a little as he spread his legs wider, trying to invite Megatron’s spike into its home.

“I know what’s best for you.” Starscream’s optics glimmered. “You can’t help yourself, you’d _ruin_ yourself, you need a firm hand…”

“Please!” Rung’s optics were wide and desperate. “Please!”

Megatron realized with a start that he wasn’t chained down. They’d collapsed on the floor of the living room after fueling this morning, and Starscream hadn’t the temerity to install rings _there_ yet. There wasn’t anything to stop him from taking Rung from Starscream and fragging him as hard and fast as he liked.

Starscream was grinning, hard and bright and delighted. The corners of Rung’s optics were crinkling with a smile, and his valve was dripping onto Megatron’s spike.

Megatron flattened the palms of his hands to the floor.

“Slowly,” purred Starscream, and lowered Rung just until the head of Megatron’s spike caught on the rim of Rung’s valve.

There was a chiming noise.

Megatron stared at Starscream, uncomprehending. Was this part of the game? Was Starscream going to train Megatron to frag at the sound of a bell? Starscream stared back, seemingly just as lost.

“It’s the doorbell, darlings.” Rung patted Starscream’s arm. “Help me up, I’ll go see what it is.”

Starscream set Rung on his feet. “But. There’s not supposed to be—There’s not—”

“Shh, shh, it’s all right.” Rung nudged Starscream a little closer to Megatron, then guided him to his knees. “It’s probably just a package or something. Why don’t you stay here, keep Megatron warm and ready for me? Use your hand, that’s right.”

Starscream took Megatron in hand. The doorbell chimed again. Megatron watched as Rung slipped his panties back on and went to answer it.

“You really shouldn’t have gone over there, Ratch,” said Deadlock over the comm. “Rung’s on vacation.”

“He’s just in his apartment.” Ratchet buzzed the doorbell again. The emergency access code Rung had given him had got him into the elevator, but he wasn’t going to just burst into the apartment itself.

“He’s on do not disturb,” said Deadlock. His voice was kind of… uncomfortable, like he was dancing around something. “He was pretty specific about not being bothered.”

“I just need his signature,” said Ratchet. “Yeah, yeah, it’s my fault for not getting it to him before he left the office. But I’ll just get it and then I can leave. It’ll take—”

Rung opened the door. He was wearing—

Rung was—

He—

Rung—

“Grgrhg?” said Ratchet.

“Oh, Ratchet!” Rung stepped closer in a swirl of lavender organic material. “Is there an emergency?”

“Nnnnn?” Ratchet disabled his optics. He couldn’t handle this. “No?”

“Then why—”

“Rung!” whined Starscream from somewhere in the apartment, his voice easily carrying to the hall. “Are you coming back? Megatron’s going to overload!”

“Then loosen your fist, dear, just tease him for a little while!” called Rung, over his shoulder.

Ratchet onlined his optics again in shock. “Did you—Uhh, could you—”

“I _am_ on vacation, Ratchet.” Rung smiled. “Did you come here for a _reason?”_

“I, uh.” Ratchet held out the datapad. “I need you to sign.”

“Oh, the budget proposal.” Rung started reading through it. The plunging neckline of his negligee ended just below his spark window, letting an edge of blue shine brilliantly while the rest was dimmed behind the fabric. “I _did_ ask you to get this to me last week.”

“My bad,” mumbled Ratchet.

“Rung!” hollered Starscream. “Can I lick his valve? I want to lick his valve!”

“Just don’t let him overload, darling.” Rung pulled a lightpen from his subspace and scribbled his glyph on the datapad. “There you are. I’ll see you next week?”

“Uhh, yeah.” Ratchet took the datapad in numb hands. “Of course.”

Rung waved and shut the door. Ratchet stood there, staring blankly at it, just long enough to hear Megatron _moan._ Then he was in the elevator, punching buttons.

“Hey,” said Deadlock.

Ratchet nearly dropped the datapad. “Primus’ broken spike!” He’d forgotten to hang up on Deadlock.

“Language,” chided Deadlock. “Hey, didn’t I tell you not to go over there?”

“You didn’t tell me I was walking into some kind of, of _sex pit.”_ Ratchet took in a shaky vent. “Rung was wearing this _thing,_ like some kind of gauzy bag? With straps? And something covering his panel? It was, uh. A lot.”

It’d been enough to make Ratchet question his conviction that Rung was a nice, sweet, plain-looking mech that everyone else was inexplicably losing their minds over. The mech certainly had _confidence,_ if he was willing to answer the door like that.

“Did you take an image capture?” asked Deadlock.

“Excuse me?” said Ratchet. The elevator opened on the street.

“I was just wondering if, uh,” Deadlock trailed off and then started again. “I mean, I saw the catalogue, Starscream brought it to the office and he just _left_ it on the desk, what was I supposed to do? And I kind of wondered what it would look like in, you know, in real life?”

“I did not,” said Ratchet, frostily, “take an image capture of our _boss.”_

“Oh.” Deadlock was silent for a few, blissful seconds. “Hey, do you think _you_ would wear—”

Ratchet hung up.

By the evening of the fifth day, Rung had lost both Starscream and Megatron to the bliss of mindless hedonism. Starscream, of course, had been a foregone conclusion from the start, but Rung had to admit Megatron took him a bit by surprise. The very moment Megatron forgot to be jaded and put-upon, he fell into sync with them as if he had been doing it forever.

Of course it was all great fun, very relaxing, and while Rung loved taking care of Starscream in their usual way, he had to admit it was _awfully_ nice to simply be along for the ride this time. So when, exhausted from the night’s last round, Starscream levered himself up on the berth after Rung and fumbled for his spike housing, Rung tilted open a thigh and went along with it.

“I thought you were going to sleep,” he sighed, as Starscream’s clever fingers coaxed him to full pressurization again. 

“Mmnnn,” Starscream said. He slithered down over Rung’s frame, settling onto his forearm just enough to keep his heavier chassis from settling against Rung’s sparkplate. “Wanna sleep full.”

Rung shivered in pleasure; they’d finally gotten to the part of the game where Megatron broke chains and took his revenge on his captors, which of course had involved pinning Starscream to the floor and _thoroughly_ spiking him while his newly donned golden jewelry jangled with the force of Megatrons’s thrusts. They had ended the night with Starscream fucked-out and limp on the floor, while Rung crept under his frilly, too-short skirt and gently licked and kneaded the last difficult-to-reach overload out of him.

As Starscream reached under himself now and spread the swollen lips of his valve open for Rung’s spike, the sound of it was decadently slick and wet.

“I don’t have the energy to spike you right now,” Rung warned him, even as Starscream melted over him. “I desperately need a recharge.”

Starscream tucked the top of Rung’s helm into the crook of his throat and let his knees slide out from under him. His skirt covered Rung’s hips as the full pressure of his weight came to rest on Rung—less than it used to be, thankfully—strangely comfortable even as it held Rung fast, pinned to the berth and unable to even think about moving himself. Starscream made an incoherent little noise against the top of Rung’s pillow.

“Just wanna be full,” he mumbled, pulling Rung’s helm tighter against him. His fingers threaded Rung’s antenna between them, and a helpless little zing of arousal shot through Rung’s exhausted frame. “‘Charge now.”

And then his valve gave a little ripple of warm tightness, flexing lazily around Rung’s spike. Rung made a choked off noise, fingers scrabbling at the berth while Starscream cuddled him closer and held him immobile. Caught between the urge to thrust up into that soft heat and the strut-deep exhaustion of the night, Rung hardly knew what to do with himself. Not that he could have done anything at all, pressed as he was beneath the weight of a well-sated jet. 

Starscream’s engine idled down, dropping off into the quiet purr of a mech in stasis, but his valve—every few kliks, just as Rung was beginning to drift off himself, there would be a twitch or a flex of valve walls, unconsciously, and his spike would begin to ache and bubble transfluid into Starscream all over again.

Rung dug his fingers into Starscream’s shoulders and willed himself to depressurize, but the random soft squeezing of Starscream’s overworked equipment made it utterly impossible, and the bulk of him left no room to adjust, and eventually Rung fell into a delirious state of half-stasis, only aware of the ache in his dribbling valve and the slow throb of his spike. 

Two or three times, Starscream roused just enough to grind his hips against Rung, contractions rolling through his valve until a weak little overload shivered through him, and then he would fall limp again, still with Rung in the same warm grip. It was torture. It was all-consuming. It was—Rung didn’t know _what_ it was.

It would be easy to wake Starscream up, even as exhausted as he was—if nothing else, a hard pinch against the hinges of Starscream’s wings would reliably result in a shrieking but very awake mass of knees and talons. Or Rung could call for Megatron, sleeping with his limbs sprawled and his helm easily in Rung’s reach. Or Rung could broadcast his safeword, which was hard-coded to an alert program in both of his partners’ systems.

Or Rung could lie there, perpetually on the edge of overload, teetering on the precipice of overstimulation, gasping into Starscream’s shoulder as Starscream began to grind _again_ —

There was light on Rung’s face. He tried to refocus his optics, but all he could see was sunlight, and all he could feel was Starscream’s valve flexing fitfully around him.

A shadow fell across him. “Really?” said Megatron’s amused voice. “You can’t let the poor mech rest even a moment, Starscream?”

“Mm?” Starscream’s chest shuddered against Rung’s chassis, and his valve clenched hard. “What?”

“You’ve been taking him all night.” The blur of Megatron’s bulk leaned closer, filling Rung’s pixelated vision. “Are you that desperate for stimulation, even after a week?”

“Hasn’t been a week yet,” mumbled Starscream. Rung could feel him shifting to sit up, feel his hips moving back and forth as he began to ride Rung in earnest. “Still got plenty of time…”

Rung opened his mouth, but the only thing that came out was a moan.

“Pretty little thing,” crooned Starscream. “Pretty little spike, made just for me. You don’t mind pleasing me, do you? You don’t have another thought in your helm.”

Megatron growled and then there was a wet noise above Rung as Starscream’s next words were muffled by a kiss. Megatron’s hand landed on Rung’s shoulder, clutching and squeezing the same way that Starscream’s valve was, and that was good. But then Starscream thrust his chest up, and Megatron let go of the metal he had been kneading in order to better please Starscream’s prominent turbines, exposed by his strategically-cut crop top. No matter how Rung wriggled or whimpered, the touch didn’t come back.

Rung had _endured_ for so long, and now, and now this? He laid there, just a tool for them to use and discard once they were done with him. To ignore, if it suited them. To put away, wet and rusting—

 _“Unicron,”_ gasped Rung.

In an instant, Starscream had not only scrambled up and off of Rung’s spike, but out of the berth entirely. There was a jangling clash of metal as his wings hit the wall. Megatron froze in place, with his hand still on Rung’s shoulder.

Rung released all of his vents and focused on breathing. He was all right. He was all right. Yes. 

“Rung?” Starscream’s voice quavered oddly, and his wings were still clattering. “What do you want us to do?”

“I’m all right,” said Rung. Freed from the constant stimulation, his vision was beginning to clear. “Just, just some bad associations, darling. Touch is good, touch is grounding.”

Megatron put his other hand over Rung’s spark window, rubbing a soothing circle. Rung smiled up at him, and was pleased that his optics were recovered enough to see Megatron’s smile in return.

“I’ll go get you some coolant,” said Starscream, and fled.

Rung waited a few moments, but it was soon obvious that Starscream wasn’t coming back.

“I _am_ fine,” said Rung, plaintively.

“Hmm.” Megatron brushed his finger over Rung’s cheek, where some optical fluid had leaked.

“I’m fine _now,”_ insisted Rung. “I didn’t want to stop, I just—I didn’t want to be treated as a _thing.”_

“I’ll go get him,” said Megatron. “Will you be all right for five minutes?”

“Yes,” said Rung, though he wasn’t actually sure. He wrapped himself in a blanket when Megatron left, and worked hard to remember how loved he was. He was a conjunx, he was wanted, he was _recognized._

Starscream slunk back in the door with Megatron close on his heels.

“Thank you,” said Starscream, looking studiously at the ceiling, “for making your boundaries clear. I’m pleased that you trusted me enough to—”

“Darling, _please_ come here,” said Rung, and spread his arms.

Starscream took one hesitating step, then another, and then he was collapsed on top of Rung, his helm buried in the crook of Rung’s neck. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t think—I just—”

“I know, sweetspark, I know.” Rung petted Starscream’s shoulders. “I didn’t have a crisis, I just wasn’t enjoying myself.”

“You make it look so _easy,”_ complained Starscream. “How was I supposed to know that you wouldn’t like—”

“Starscream,” said Megatron, settling on the berth beside them. Starscream’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click.

“No, no, it’s a good question,” said Rung. “Being in charge can be difficult, can’t it? Because you want to make sure that everyone’s having a good time. Sometimes you can guess what will work, and sometimes you’ve been told, but otherwise you just have to rely on everyone else to put on the brakes if you steer the wrong way. But sometimes, if you’re careful and you’re lucky, you can just tap the brakes instead of slamming on them and giving yourself whiplash. Does that make sense?”

“No,” grumbled Starscream. “I don’t understand your weird grounder analogies.”

Rung caught Starscream’s hand and guided it down to where Rung’s spike was still pressurized and slick with lubricant. “What I’m saying, darling, is that I still want you to ride me.”

Starscream’s wings flicked up, and his hand began to stroke. “Oh, really?”

“I’ll beg if I must.” Rung let his voice take on a sweet, desperate note. “Oh, Lord Starscream, I need to overload _so_ badly—”

Starscream groaned thickly and squirmed back on top of Rung. But then he stopped, his legs spread under his skirt and that glistening, wrecked valve just kissing the head of Rung’s spike.

“What do I need to do for you?” he asked. “I mean—how do I avoid the brakes?”

“Can you use my name?” asked Rung. “And if you could look at me—oh, yes, like that.”

“Rung.” Starscream said his name like he was tasting it. “Rung, Rung, my poor assistant, suffering all night from your overactive libido. You were so hungry for valve that you couldn’t sleep, could you?”

“No, Lord Starscream,” said Rung, humbly.

“Then I suppose we must _sate_ you.” Starscream snapped his fingers. “Megatron! Lower me.”

Megatron looked very long-suffering, but he stood next to Starscream and put his hands on Starscream’s waist, lowering him onto Rung’s spike, then lifting him again when Starscream snapped his fingers and waved his hand dramatically. 

Megatron’s pace was steady, methodical, and Starscream’s valve clenched as he tried to keep Rung deep inside even as Megatron pulled him up. Starscream kept moaning Rung’s name, and the way he _looked,_ the way _Megatron_ looked at Rung over Starscream’s shoulder—

After their restless night and very eventful morning, Rung found himself sitting at a table at a lovely bistro down the road from their apartment, watching the light play over an outdoor sculpture that twisted delicately in the wind. The weather had settled into something mild, the energon was fresh and delicious, and the three of them looked as dazed and haggard as a trio of mechs recently thrown about in a cyclone. 

The waiter who brought their fuel out to them took one look at their shameless collection of dents and paint transfers and flushed the bright blue color of a summer morning. Rung gave him a reassuring smile. He made a break for the kitchen. Rung sipped his drink.

They did, perhaps, look a bit like dazed and overclocked wild people. They’d removed the lingerie, of course, but Starscream had left on most of his jewelry—the wing chains, the bangles, and the heavy combination collar and pendant. It certainly created an impression.

“You know, I’m really enjoying this submissive role,” Rung said, as he plucked the shaker of pink salt out of Starscream’s hands before he could completely corrode his tanks. “What would you think of holding me down a bit more? Making me take it, so to speak.” 

Megatron looked skeptical, but Starscream looked shrewd. “ _Really?”_ he said.

“Oh yes, I think so,” Rung said. “Tomorrow we could set up something with a bit of a narrative arc, nothing complicated, but maybe something where—”

Starscream’s expression soured. “We can’t do anything too involved tomorrow. We’ve all got to get straightened out for work the next day. I’ve already got Rattrap nosing around my inbox, offering to _bring_ me things if I’m going to be out of work any longer.”

“I thought you said no comms,” Megatron said, optics narrowing. 

Starscream flapped a hand. “Yes, yes, for _you_ two, I know what a workaholic Rung is. But I have _excellent_ work-life management. Anyway,” he added, dropping his grimacing face onto his fist, “Rattrap has my personal frequency, not the work inbox.”

Rung, several beats behind in this conversation, said, “We have work _when?”_

“It’s been six days,” Starscream said. “Did you not notice?” And then his expression went keen and smug, half obscured by his knuckles. “Did we wring you out that well, hmm? Did we burn your sweet little processor out?”

“Starscream,” Rung said, half amused and half warning.

“I know, I know,” Starscream rolled his optics. “Not in public. _I’m_ not the one lounging around with finger-shaped dents on my hips.”

“Only because you popped them out,” muttered Megatron. 

Six days… Rung tried to think back. It had been very nice, very relaxing to give the responsibility for their shared pleasure over to Starscream. He’d quite lost track of the time. But he thought he did remember six different outfits Starscream had paraded out and allowed them to ruin. The one with the crown and the cape had been the best.

Starscream took a sip of his drink. “Tomorrow we’re _all_ getting our dents popped, and the scuffs buffed out, and our paint detailed. I booked us a very discreet salon.” He looked Megatron up and down. “There’s even time for a full repaint.”

“My paint is fine,” said Megatron.

“It’s _gray,”_ said Starscream, unearthing a truly ancient argument. “You could be so much more interesting in yellow! And would it kill you to get some highlights?”

“Probably,” growled Megatron. “What pattern would you recommend? A target on my back?”

Rung let the conversation roll over him as he stared into his energon. Tomorrow a spa day, and then the next day… work. Back to his office on the top floor of the hospital, back to reading reports and putting budgets together and being the last word on every dispute, no matter how vital or petty. 

He felt a sort of anxious, preemptive nostalgia. What would he do, when he had to actually wake up in the morning, instead of rolling over and dozing until Starscream bounced back into berth with a new outfit and another plan? When he had to wait until he got home to kiss Megatron, instead of being able to kiss him whenever he liked?

On the other hand, his array could use some time to recover. He’d already had to dismiss four warnings about overuse.

Tomorrow the spa, the next day work, but tonight—

“We don’t have to get elaborate,” said Rung, interrupting a conversation that involved Starscream pointing rudely at other patrons and threatening to inflict their paintjobs on Megatron. “Perhaps tonight you two could just… ravish me a little?”

His partners’ helms both swiveled to stare at him, Starscream’s optics wide and Megatron’s dark.

“You could,” said Rung, feeling a little silly, “tear off my clothes? With your teeth?”

Starscream made a scandalized sound. “Those _clothes_ were expensive!”

“Gently tear,” amended Rung.

“Hmph.” Starscream tapped his talons against the table. “I’ll think about it.”

“Oh, believe me,” said Megatron, “I already am.”

Rung burst into laughter so loud that he startled the poor beleaguered waiter into almost dropping the platter of refills he’d been bringing to their table. Rung apologized profusely. He didn’t usually laugh like that, he just felt so loose, so full, so, so—

“This was a very good idea for a vacation,” he decided.

Starscream’s wings flicked up, and his smirk couldn’t quite disguise his look of pleased surprise. “Of course it was,” he said, just as he had on that first day. “It was mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> In the end, thinking it was entirely his own idea, Megatron picked out some Lost Light style red highlights exactly as Starscream planned.


End file.
